


Honour Among Thieves

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Honor, drinks between enemies, how to handle your problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: A knife attack on Captain Flint doesn't go the way the assassin planned.





	Honour Among Thieves

 

 

 Flint tenses. It's only the smallest sound, a pebble shifting, but it's there. Someone is outside his door. He moves silently through the room, leaving the candle lit, to stand to the side of the door. It swings open. A figure in the dark hallway. They move forward and he moves quickly, wrapping his arm around their neck, to find the assailant shifting quickly, darting away towards the door. He catches them around the waist now and throws them backwards into the room.

It's one of Vane's crew. He recognizes her now as they square off. The sharp-featured, silent redheaded woman who scowls so when someone speaks to her and is enigmatically quet otherwise. In her hand is a knife, lethal, waiting for his blood.

Flint dances backward nimbly as she goes for him, and then again catches her by the throat as she twists. This time he holds on, bringing his arm down sharply to dislodge the knife from her grip. She growls as the knife travels across the room.

Flint's chest heaves as they face off again. She eyes the knife. "You could go for it." Flint says, his breath ragged. "Or we could have a drink and you could tell me why the fuck you're trying to kill me."

Her gaze dances over to the knife again. She's thinking about it. He can tell from the way her body holds itself, the whole of her in action, ready.

He reaches for the bottle of rum standing on the desk, keeping a wary eye on her as he takes a swig. "So why are you trying to kill me?" He digs deep in his memory for a name, any name. He's seen her in the background of meetings, standing in shadows behind louder men. Bonny, he thinks, and then, whimsically, it suits her. She has a bonny face, no doubt, when it's not covered in grime.

"You're the source of all my troubles."

When she speaks it startles him as much as the words itself. "How is that the case?" He's never spoken two words to this woman, barely passed her in the street. How is that possible?

She moves forward, nodding at the bottle still in his hand. Flint sets it down on the table and slides it across to her. She takes it, drinking a short sip, eyes still on him.

"Your little business deal with that blonde cunt. It's causing the captain to fret 'cause he thinks you'll get between her legs 'instead o'him."

Flint frowns. "There is nothing of that nature between Ms Guthrie and myself. Our relationship is strictly business." He didn't like the thought of the street speculating about Eleanor and him, even though he knows it has its uses at time. In particular if it's keeping Vane away from Eleanor, then it holds merit.

"That might be, but he's a jealous beast and." She shrugs. "His worries are Jack's worries and Jack won't stop fucking moaning about it."

"And that's a problem for you." Now Flint has it. Jack is Jack Rackham, of course, a brash bosun on Vane's crew who likes the sound of his own voice a little too much for Flint's taste, although the man shows promise.

"Yeah, it's a fucking problem." Bonny snarls. "Do you know how hard it is to sleep when a man won't quit whinging about something? Near impossible."

"I know." Flint says without thinking.

She gives him a sideways appraising glance and tips the bottle back again.

"So killing me solves the problem?" He says skeptically.

Bonny shrugs her thin shoulders. "If you ain't around getting tangled in Guthrie's skirts, then Vane has free range, and if he's getting his dick wet, then he'll be happy and if he's happy then Jack's happy and if Jack's happy." Here her voice falls away and Flint finds himself curious to know the answer.

"If Jack's happy, are you happy?"

She squints at him. "Happy's not...I mean, it don't have nothing to do with it."

"It should." He doesn't know why he's pressing this. It's nothing to him if a member of Vane's filthy crew is content with their lot in life or not.

"Says who?" She counters.

"Me, for one."

"You happy then?" She's taunting him, throwing his words back in his face. "With a crew of pricks, who half think you're fucking a witch, and half thinking you come from the sea yourself?"

"What do you think?"

"You're made of flesh and bone like the rest 'o us." Her lip curls. "My knife woulda proved that soon enough."

"What if I tell Eleanor that the street thinks she and I are..." He gestures, not wanting to put them in bed together even in a sentence, "And that if she inclines towards Captain Vane's affections, she should let him know that. And if that's the case, then he will know that her business with me is not an obstacle."

"You think it's that easy? That words will solve the problem just like that?"

"Better than a knife." He says flatly. "If a member of Vane's crew had killed me, what do you think Ms Guthrie would do then? Do you think she'd welcome him back with open arms? Hardly."

"They wouldn't know it was me."

"It's a likely guess." He chances.

She scowls, her hand tightening on the bottle. "Never woulda talked so much if I was planning on leaving you alive."

Flint's lips smile in spite of himself. "What if I give you my word that I will never speak of this to another person?"

"How the fuck is that supposed to mean something? Your word." Bonny snorts in disgust.

"The word of a captain is supposed to mean something in Nassau." Flint draws himself up, letting her look at him. From her expression she's not impressed.

"Well, maybe it's supposed to, but it don't to me."

He reaches over and takes the bottle before she can pull away. He takes a long draft and stares down at her. "What other assurances do you require?"

She looks dumbfounded for a moment, that he should ask her, and there's a brief look of uncertainty as though she didn't have a backup plan instead of killing him. Flint sighs under his breath. He doesn't want to kill this woman; he will if he has to, but he doesn't want to. He waits and she waits and they're both ready. Flint's exhausted but exhilarated at the same time. This woman has brought something into the room that wasn't there before. A surge of life, reminding him of existence besides his mission. He needed it.  He wants to thank her, but knows she won't understand it.

Abruptly Anne shrugs. "All right." She holds out her hand.

He takes it, unsure of what he's agreeing to now. Bonny's grasp is firm and steady.

"What made you agree to it?"

"A man's word should mean something." Bonny says. "And if yours does..." She shrugs. "That tells me something."

"All right." Flint says, not sure if he's won here or not. He's still alive. That's one thing. He takes another sip and holds it out. "To happiness among friends."

Bonny inclines her head in agreement as she takes the bottle. "To peace."

"Peace." Flint agrees. A rare thought, but welcome.

Bonny sets the bottle down. "I'll be going now."

"Don't forget your knife."

She grins crookedly at him and goes to retrieve it from where it slid across the floor. There's the slimmest of pauses as she holds it, where Flint tenses, just in case the peace they've just drunk to matters not at all. His sword is by his bed. He has a dagger in his boot. He's not ready for blood: he doesn't want it.

Bonny slides her dagger into her belt. "See you around."

Flint nods, and doesn't quite relax his stance until she's closed the door.

 

*  *  *

 

The next time he sees her in the street, striding alongside Rackham, her eyes meet his for just a brief second, and Flint nods in acknowledgement before he moves along.

Jack glances at her curiously. "What was that about?"

"What was what about?" Anne keeps walking.

"Flint himself just nodded to you. I suppose he could have been nodding to me, but it seemed aimed at you and I can't help wonder if you have some clandestine rendezvous planned that I should know about, hmm?"

"Me and Flint?" Anne scoffs. "Are you out of your mind?"

Jack shrugs. "Stranger things have happened. Just take for example the fact that Ms Guthrie seems to have made her peace with Charles and he's no longer acting like a tormented beast." He prattles on in that manner and Anne smiles to herself as they walk. A man's word is worth something after all. Or at least Flint's word is. It's good enough for her.

 


End file.
